


Father, have mercy

by celestial_hieroglyphs



Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Stream of Consciousness, completely and utterly plotless, i write one thing and its angsty plotless character exploration, literally just sad words in a row
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:02:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_hieroglyphs/pseuds/celestial_hieroglyphs
Summary: An exploration of, possibly, Beverly's worst nightmare in regards to his demonic daddy.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Father, have mercy

At first, it’s a broken plea. Then he says it again and it’s desperate, and it cycles through this as he exchanges blows with… his father’s body, his father, something.

“Dad,” Through slashes into his armor

“Dad,” Through parries of his father’s blade

“Dad,” Through successful strikes and deep slices

“Dad,” Through thick and thin, through lost time and short talks, through broken screams and deafening silence. After years that were weeks and weeks that were years, after all that, after promises he knew he couldn’t keep and last requests he refused to entertain, and all he can muster is the one word. 

“Dad!” It’s a choked out sob, it’s tears he won’t let fall, it’s a sword he won’t swing right, it’s a shield slowly wearing down, it’s memories and letters and curt talks and hair ruffles and warnings and dining table talks and screaming matches in falling towers.

And Beverly hates every silent second of it.

“Dad,” once more, broken and quiet. 

And it’s the same response.

Slashing. _Slicing_. **Burning**. 

And silence, and silence, and _silence_. 

Beverly doesn’t know, and doesn’t have time to think: is this the worst option?

Fighting a shell of his father, wordless and empty and as dead as his dad promised he was? Because there were alternatives. There was worse, and there always will be worse to explore.

Fighting his father, his real father. Fighting a body that housed his father and his unspeakable desire to protect his boy, alongside the unwavering intent of Ilsed. Barely there apologies, a quivering voice no child should have to hear a parent use, barely restrained sobs matching the sounds that tear themselves from Bev’s throat as he tries to be as strong as his father raised him to be. Someone silent for his son’s sake, someone himself enough to block killing blows without any intention or action. A steady, determined body making _painstakingly_ deliberate and _regrettably_ skilled attacks.

...Alternatives; Plural.

Fighting his father, his not quite father. Something not far from Lydia in her chains, Marabelle in her distortion. Fighting a body that held his father prisoner, that became a monster of its own. Something corrupted and wrong, something with enough twisted and enough remaining, _someone_ mocking and cruel. Something with his father’s face, his father’s voice, and his father’s anger, alongside all of Hell’s fury. A someone familiar and a someone he’d never met. Harsh taunts in a familiar voice, a cackle that distantly reminded him of a destroyed home. Eyes like hellfire but blazing bleak enough to see his father in - to see himself in. A fractured image of his father through a funhouse mirror, but his father nonetheless. A flurry of merciless slashes, bloodlust and familiarity.

As said before, Beverly doesn’t have time to consider this. As said before, Beverly is busy; protecting his friends, trying to save his father, dodging his dad’s attacks, keeping from crying, keeping from dying.

Beverly is busy,

Beverly is trying,

Beverly is-

Beverly is killing his father or he is dying, and he doesn’t know how the hell he’s gonna reconcile that, what the hell he’s gonna choose, he just knows the people at his side are all he has right now.


End file.
